The 19^th century Methodist liturgist and theologian, Thomas O. Summers, contended that Methodists have “the best catechetical literature, at least in the English language.” [1] While I won’t spend much time defending his assertion, his claim is worth considering. For many, the word “catechesis” (if it is familiar at all) is merely a synonym for “confirmation.” Sadly, this perspective has contributed to the crisis in our church today. I find Summers’ writings about the topic helpful in thinking about the true nature of catechesis.

A Baptismal Life

Because the vast majority of baptisms in Summers’ context were those of infants or children, his catechetical focus was naturally on the young. His view of baptism was robust and he often referred to newly baptized children as being “placed in the school of Christ.”[2] For Summers, the responsibility of the faithful to the newly baptized begins, not ends, with baptism. This challenges the, at least implicit, belief that the culmination of the spiritual formation of children is “Confirmation Sunday.” Summers envisioned a much more robust, intentional, and extended process—one that begins, not ends, with baptism.

Not Merely Didactic

Summers understood catechesis to be a continuation of baptism; a process established and nourished within the context of worship. Catechesis is not simply a matter of teaching information about the faith. At its most essential level, catechesis functions to prepare the newly baptized for faithful participation in the worshipping community. Summers accurately notes:

The catechetical instructions of the ancients consisted chiefly of expositions of the Lord’s prayer, the ten commandments, and some creed or confession of faith. [3]

For much of the history of Church, these three elements—“The Creed,” “The Lord’s Prayer,” and “The Ten Commandments”—comprised the primary elements of congregational participation in worship. It was crucial that the newly baptized be prepared to actively participate in worship with a deep appreciation for the mystery of faith that is celebrated every Sunday.

In my experience little, if any, preparation is given to the newly baptized to equip them for active involvement in worship. Too often we simply assume that because a person has been present on Sundays, there is nothing the Church can or should do to deepen her participation in worship. “The ancients,” as Summers reminds us, understood that our engagement in worship is enhanced as we explore the richness of the prayers we pray, the songs we sing, the words we hear, and the bread we taste.

Catechesis, then, is not a matter of simply inputting spiritual or biblical concepts into the newly baptized, rather it is a process by which individuals are equipped to fully participate in the life of the worshipping community. When catechesis becomes divorced from full, conscious, and active participation in worship, the process becomes little more than rote memorization. On the other hand, when catechesis is understood as the way in which the newly baptized are integrated into the worshipping body, it becomes a much more dynamic concept. Catechesis is a continuation of the baptismal life, a process that is established and nourished within the context of worship.

A Clear Telos

As a Methodist Summers understood that catechesis played a central role in the process of Christian perfection. In his commentary on the Ritual of the Methodist Episcopal Church, South, Summers writes that in baptism “all of its [the Church’s] members are pledged to holiness.”[4] When we witness a person, young or old, being baptized we all renew our commitment to holiness. Baptism begins the journey, catechesis equips the newly baptized to pursue Christian perfection through the means of grace, and the entire congregation shares in that mutual pledge.

Lyrical Catechesis

Let’s return to Summer’s claim about Methodist catechetical sources. A primary catechetical source that Summers consistently upheld was the Methodist hymnal—particularly the hymns of Charles Wesley. Summers understood that, more often than not, our beliefs are most shaped by what we sing. As a Methodist, Summers turned to the rich tradition of the Wesleyan hymns as a primary resource for catechesis.

I am convinced that Wesley’s hymns can still have significant impact in our contemporary contexts, but they require the work of a catechist to (re)introduce them to many of our congregations. No other protestant denomination has such a treasury of hymns covering a range of topics like the nature of God (the Trinity, etc.), the way of salvation (personal and cosmic), and sacramental theology—just to name a few. In light of this rich and often untapped resource, Summers’ claim seems to be in order.

If contemporary Methodists are serious about robust catechesis, we must broaden our concept of the term. We must understand that baptism is a moment that shapes our entire life—a journey in holiness. We must break free from an approach to catechesis that is merely didactic and understand that the process of catechesis is anchored in the worshipping community. And we need look no further than our own tradition for what is, perhaps, the preeminent Wesleyan catechetical resource: the Wesleyan hymns.

[1]“Brief Reviews,” Methodist Quarterly Review 14 (October 1860): 600.

[2]Commentary on the Ritual, 34.

[3]The Sunday-school Teacher; Or, The Catechetical Office (Richmond/Louisville: John Early for the Methodist Episcopal Church, South, 1853), 10.

[4]Commentary, 51

When you hear the term “discipleship” what comes to mind? An educational program for adults in your church? The reflective/debriefing group sessions during a mission trip? A moment to promote a given ministry or event during the worship service? A particular pastor who serves at a multi-staffed church?

Each one of us can probably come up with three or four examples of discipleship that all look different from each other – and hopefully each example contributes to the same idea – that discipleship is how we live our Christian lives in love and service to God so that we are an example of God’s love in the world.

Wesley’s Take on Discipleship

The truth is, as much as contemporary Wesleyans talk about making disciples and doing discipleship, John Wesley rarely used the term “disciple.” For him, the term was synonymous with being a Christian or being an eighteenth-century Methodist. In his tract, “The Character of a Methodist,” John Wesley discussed what made those pioneer Methodists identifiable to the rest of the world. Wesley said it was not the things that early Methodists did or said, but rather that a person loved God with their heart, mind, soul and strength (Mark 12:30).

Through loving God so completely, a Methodist found contentment in God, trusted God for every need, prayed and sought after God so that the lives they lived in attitude and action were consistent with God’s love for the world. In the next to last paragraph of the tract, Wesley remarks that being a Methodist is really nothing new to the world and was simply the “common principles of Christianity – the plain, old Christianity that I teach, renouncing and detesting all other marks of distinction.” In other words, being an eighteenth-century Methodist means to be a Christian – to be a follower of Jesus Christ in any age or era.

According to Wesley, being a Christian disciple is an all encompassing endeavor. Using the customary gender-specific language of his day, Wesley describes a Christian disciple as follows:

[H]e is a Christian, not in name only, but in heart and in life. He is inwardly and outwardly conformed to the will of God, as revealed in the written word. He thinks, speaks, and lives, according to the method laid down in the revelation of Jesus Christ. His soul is renewed after the image of God, in righteousness and in all true holiness. And having the mind that was in Christ, he so walks as Christ also walked.

Methodists, or Christians, are characterized by patterning their lives after Christ and being renewed, transformed into Christlikeness as they continually follow Christ’s example.

Contemporary Implications

Two remarkable things stand out when reading Wesley’s tract. First, Wesley does not discuss what activities, actions or ministries early Methodists – or Christian disciples – do. Actually, the only activity he explicitly mentions in the whole tract is prayer; which is as much action as it is an attitude for preforming acts of mercy and piety in this world, i.e. by acting prayerfully.

The other remarkable thing is closely related and has to do with the title itself: “The Character of a Methodist.” Notice Wesley did not title it “Programs of a Methodist” or “Ministries of A Methodist” or even “Moments of a Methodist.” The fact that he talks about the distinguishing marks or characteristic qualities of Methodists makes me wonder why contemporary Wesleyans are prone to discuss discipleship as a program, or a ministry area, or a focus moment in our worship services when Wesley saw things quite differently. To be either an eighteenth century Methodist or a contemporary Christian disciple is actually characterized by a way of living in this world which qualifies the way (or manner in which persons do things in this world) for the sake of God’s Kingdom.

Christian Character Demonstrates Our Discipleship

Make no mistake, in order to demonstrate our love for God and offer it to others, Christian disciples will be engaged in activities and actions in this world. But those activities and actions are not in and of themselves our “discipleship.” After all, many activities and actions Christians do in this world – feeding the hungry, sheltering the homeless, offering aid in times of crisis – look just like what other well-intentioned, caring persons do in this world. Christian discipleship is characterizing how we engage in activities in this world that demonstrates the love of God to this world. Christian discipleship is about living in such a way that we distinguish ourselves as followers of Jesus from those that do similar things out civic duty, moral obligation, or humanitarian aid. Christian discipleship is not so much about doing something – or anything – at all.

Christian discipleship is being a follower of Jesus and living in a manner consistent with Christ’s example even when we are hanging out with friends, stuck in traffic, or surfing the internet. We do not “do discipleship’ as much as we “demonstrate discipleship” by letting Christ’s character infuse our daily actions and lives so that others might know Christ by the way we live.

I’ll bet there are roads you could drive blindfolded if you really needed to.

Maybe it’s the road from your house to the entrance of your subdivision, or the route you take to work, or the circuitous path you carve in your daily routine – stop, start, turn, pause, start again. The rhythm of acceleration, brake, the swing of the vehicle as you round a curve – commuters, too, know the rhythm of train stations and bus stops, so that travel becomes second nature.

We see the construction workers and construction equipment so big it nearly qualifies as a building on treads that squelch their way through mud and we think we build roads; oh, maybe not you and me. But our proxies are out in all weather spreading hot asphalt and leveling hills, that’s us – that’s Our Civilization Out There Building Roads. We think we build the roads.

I think the roads build us.

Recently I returned to central Kentucky, where I had lived for several years. I’d been away a while, and when I came back I was confronted with a new highway snaking through the rolling horse farms where an old one used to be; safer, undoubtedly, but out of sync with the old drive.

It was disorienting. I found glimpses of familiarity in unfamiliar proximity and proportion. Finally I discovered remnants of the old highway remained, running parallel to the new installation, and immediately pulled onto the original road. My body relaxed. Here was a landmark. There was a familiar farm. I knew the curves of the aged tumbling stone wall that marked old boundaries. The lift of the hills, the force of the turns – it was almost like muscle memory.

Hikers will tell you to leave your surroundings as untouched as possible, to preserve nature, to protect wildlife. But whatever trail you take, you won’t remain untouched. The path itself will have shaped you in some way.

Maybe that’s part of the reason that, over and over again, God reminded the Israelites to tear down the high places – those elevated perches of idolatry. Those paths needed to grow over and be forgotten. Those trails needed to be neglected; new roads needed to be established. Those muscles needed new memories. We hear stories of absent-minded drivers accidentally driving to their old place of work, or their old house – the same principle.

We think we shape the landscape, but the roads are shaping us.

How is it that the angle of a foot planted on a sidewalk can feel familiar? But it can. And the angle of the soul is similarly directed and shaped.

What roads are shaping you? The sentimental route to a loved ones’ house? The familiar trip to Sunday worship? The freeway journey to your job? The worn path trailing down to a beloved grave that you tend? The swaying course of a city bus to night class?

It’s best to be mindful of what roads are shaping you. Roads can be sly, shifting you this way and that when you’re lulled into complacency. Once, while driving, I mindlessly followed the person I was supposed to be following, only to look up and discover I’d been led past a Do Not Enter sign and was driving headfirst into oncoming traffic.

Examine your roads.

They shape you when you’re not looking.

And as pilgrims, we’re called to be mindful travelers.

There is a hunger in the church for meaningful community, where people can find support and comfort from others as they seek to grow in faith in the midst of the spectacular, tragic, and mundane events of real life. When I talk with church leaders about the importance of small group formation for Christian discipleship, people typically agree that small groups are important and that their churches would benefit from more small groups focused on life change. But they want to know how this kind of community can be created.

This question has come up repeatedly, for example, when I talk with church leaders about the role of class meetings in early Methodism, and my belief that they are of ongoing significance for contemporary Christianity. Class meetings were small groups that had seven to twelve people in them and met weekly to answer the question, “How does your soul prosper?” (Or, how is your life in God?) These groups were of such importance in early Methodism that for decades they were a basic requirement for membership. They were a key place where people learned about their need for salvation in Christ and the reality that salvation is freely offered to all through faith in the amazing grace of God. They also helped forge a deep sense of community as Methodists found faith in Christ and pursued a deeper relationship with the Triune God. (For more about the class meeting and how to start groups like these, check out my recent book The Class Meeting: Reclaiming a Forgotten (and Essential) Small Group Experience.)

Attending to basic tasks like training class leaders, gathering the critical mass needed to start a class meeting, and casting vision to start groups that are focused on a particularly Wesleyan approach to communal formation is essential. And I address these and other practical aspects of starting class meetings from the ground up in my recent book.

And yet, I’ve realized that when people ask questions about the basic process of starting class meetings, they are not just asking about the very practical details of how to start a class meeting. There often appear to be questions behind these questions. Do people really want this kind of community? Would others really want to be a part of my life in this way? And would they actually let me into their lives?

When people do get a taste of healthy Christian community, it is often like water in a dry land. It is quickly absorbed and serves to make one more aware of a deep longing to be known, seen, heard, cared for, and most of all loved. Many Christian are hungry for this kind of connection with others.

To be honest, creating this kind of community is also very difficult. It takes time – lots of time – and effort. It takes consistency and intentionality that are often only given to one’s immediate family. The challenge increases because many Christians aren’t used to talking to each other about their relationship with God at all, much less bringing major life decisions, or the things they are most ashamed of or struggle with to a group. Pastors and lay leaders, then, raise questions about the feasibility of groups like the class meeting because they are aware of just how wide the gap is between the ideal form of Christian community and the current reality of most of the people in their church.

The class meeting is ideally suited for just such a context. The class meeting helps people who are more comfortable keeping their faith to themselves than discussing it with others, but who do have a desire for deeper connection with other Christians to take a step. It is a step that a leader can reasonably expect someone to take without getting in over their heads. But it is also a step that will help the person begin to experience the kind of community for which God created each of us.

I am increasingly convinced that two essential ingredients to a successful small group are a willingness by all group members to be vulnerable with each other and a willingness to invest meaningful time in the group. Class meetings help people grow in significant ways in both areas. As people begin to learn to talk about their relationship with God with each other, they make themselves vulnerable. And as they commit to a weekly one hour meeting, they take a step toward investing time in others and allow others to invest in them.

The Christian life was never intended to be lived in isolation from others. I have found time and time again that God uses other people to bless my life and help me grow in my faith. This should not come as a surprise because the doctrine of the Trinity expresses the basic Christian belief that God’s essence is a community of self-giving love between the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Working towards this kind of community is challenging. But those who have experienced the benefits of healthy Christian community can testify that the benefits far outweigh the challenges.

My hope is that the church will increasingly pave the way for all Christians to experience deeper community with their brothers and sisters in the faith.

It’s so awkward…

Your spouse meets someone while they’re out. “The kids play so well together.” She says. “He’s pretty cool.” He tells you. “We’re alike in so many ways, it’s funny.” She says. “By the way, they’re coming over on Sunday.”

So, they had a connection. Now, you are forced into trying to achieve the same connection with the other spouse…who probably feels just as awkward about things as you do. Yet, neither of you dare mention it. You know better. Plus, it really wouldn’t help matters.

Sometimes, the connection comes. It’s a relief when it does. You like the same struggling sports team (Let’s Go Mountaineers?!). You drink the same soda. Whatever it is, sometimes it’s a fit. It’s great when that happens.

Then, there are those other times…

Sometimes, it just doesn’t work. You plan, you try, you fail. Your attempt at conversation is met by a lackluster, “yup” and you know it’s gonna be a long day.

It reminds me of the current model of evangelism we have in the church.

Let me explain:

We want our congregation to grow, so we invite people to church. We have evangelism plans designed to add to the church. We ask people to volunteer in the church. We have people give to the church. We have folks make commitments to the church. We ask people to join the church so they can be members of the church. If we’re successful with all this inviting to church and asking for church, we basically end up creating people for church – church people.

Then, when these church people begin to act petty, when they argue over ridiculous things that don’t really matter, when feelings get hurt and dysfunction becomes king, we ask, “Why? How? The church was growing, why are people acting like this?”

But how could they not?

All we’ve done is invite them to bring their baggage, their selfishness and everything else, into a camp meeting that’s already so full of nasty baggage it looks more like a landfill than a church. And that’s when we ask Jesus to step in…and it’s just plain awkward. If, as the Bible says, the Church is the bride of Christ, it’s exactly like your husband or wife inviting the other couple to your house.

Up until now we haven’t really talked about Jesus. We didn’t tell people about the transformational nature of Jesus. We didn’t talk about self-sacrifice. We invited people to become church members, not Jesus-followers.

And that’s what we got. Now, Jesus is saying, “So, what am I supposed to talk to her about? You’ve invited them to be in church. They’ve been there for years and sit on your boards. They’re your friend. You didn’t ask my opinion before now. What do you want me to do?”

Luckily, Jesus can step in and fix things.

I’ve got a plan to avoid all the headaches, angry emails, heated meetings, and sleepless nights. It won’t fix everything, but I think it’s a huge first step:

Stop inviting people to church! Stop it! Right Now!

Don’t invite people to your church. We know the results of that. It rarely works anyway. Even when people actually show up, most don’t stick around for long. They sense the discontentment. They recognize the troubles. They head for the door.

Invite them, instead, to follow Jesus. No, it’s not the same thing. Following Jesus means I’m not the most important person in the world…not even in this room…even when I’m alone.

Following Jesus is about turning over my desires, my wants, my needs to him. It’s about putting to death my own selfishness, narcissism, greed, desire for control, etc. When we follow Jesus, things change, churches become places of hope, restoration, and redemption, and communities are transformed.

It’s a game-changer. Meetings become inspiring, evangelism becomes more about the Kingdom of God than it does about growing a local congregation, marriages are healed, chains of addiction are broken, and death gives way to life! Following Jesus is exciting stuff!

Don’t mistake what I’m saying. We need to be connected to other believers. The best way to do that is through a local congregation. I’m in the beginning stages of starting a new church, so I am surely not anti-church. I just realize there are more important things…like Jesus.

I want people to come to the church. I want every church to be filled. I just want them to be filled with, and invited to become, Jesus followers and not church members.

So instead of inviting people to church, let’s invite them to follow Jesus.

I recently returned from a two-week trip to Nigeria. I will be processing my experiences there for quite some time, but one encounter impressed me greatly and returned to my mind when I read a recent post by John Meunier – We Are All Disabled. Like John, my thoughts are not fully formed on the theological issues raised by disability – I’ve never been encouraged to actually contemplate it. But for some reason, I keep returning to it as a significant topic of reflection. While in Lagos, my conversation with Ayuba Buri Gufram intensified that interest.

Ayuba contracted polio as a child and has never walked upright on his feet. Instead, at least until he was a young adult, he crawled on the ground like most other polo survivors in Nigeria. Unlike others, however, his family kept him in their home rather than turning him out to survive alone by begging, or, as some families do, place him as an apprentice with a more experienced beggar in order to develop his skills, before then turning him out to go solo. Rather than these options, Ayuba’s family kept him at home. He was able to go to school for a while, but the fees were expensive and his father did not see the need to continue to send him.

The turning point came when Ayuba was able to obtain a wheelchair. That was a game changer. He was able to go to school for the first time in years, he met his future wife, and he discovered his life mission – to give polio survivors the opportunity to stop crawling on the ground.

Ayuba founded Beautiful Gate, an organization dedicated to building uniquely designed wheelchairs for children disabled by polio. This is definitely a cause worth supporting, but that’s not what I want to explore here.

The name, Beautiful Gate, is taken from the story of Peter and the crippled beggar in Acts 3. Peter and John go to the temple for prayers and encounter a crippled beggar at the entrance area called The Beautiful Gate. Every day this man’s friends would bring him to the Beautiful Gate where he would beg for money. The climax of the story is when Peter heals this man, and rightly so. But from Ayuba’s perspective two other details are significant.

First, the man’s friends brought him to the Beautiful Gate each day. For Ayuba, that was a sign of caring and devotion. But his next question is a valid one: Why did they leave him at the gate? Why not take him all the way in? Did they not understand that he had spiritual needs as well?

Now I understand that there are all kinds of scholarly answers to Ayuba’s question – laws about purity, understandings of sin, disease, and punishment. But those scholarly answers make his question even more poignant, did they not understand that he had spiritual needs?

For Ayuba, the fact that the beggar had spiritual needs is emphasized by what happens when Peter heals him – the man immediately enters the temple praising God. Certainly, his praise is appropriate; after all, he’s just been healed. As significant as the healing is, however, Ayuba goes on to ask another question: Might the man have wanted to praise God before he was healed? Each day, as he sat outside the temple, might he have wanted to bring all kinds of things to God in worship and prayer – his praise, his supplication, his intercession?

Obviously the beggar’s healing is worthy of praise, and it provides the opportunity for Peter to preach to the crowd that gathers, which is of course, a main focus of the overall story. But what about the man? Was he only defined by his crippled condition, which others determined placed him outside the context of worship? Was he only defined by his crippled condition, which others assumed gave him no reason to praise?

Ayuba left me much to think about. My tendency is to move to the theoretical – to ask wide open questions like, as Christians, who are we leaving at the gate? Or, what are our preconceived notions about praise and our reasons for offering it? Those are good questions, worthy of contemplation and conversation.

But Ayuba is less interested in the theoretical than the practical. And so he asks, what about this man, this crippled beggar who is sitting at the gate, this man with spiritual needs and reasons for praise? What about him? And I’m left thinking that’s where I need to start as well.

This statement sounds counterintuitive, but I love Ash Wednesday.

“What?” you might think. “How could anyone love a day set apart for repentance?”

Actually, that’s one reason that makes this day special and, in a sense, worth loving—one reason among many that this is a day to observe wholeheartedly. I love Ash Wednesday for at least three reasons.

First, Ash Wednesday interrupts our normal schedule with a piercing call for us to remember our mortality and mourn our sins. Like the shrill cacophony of an alarm clock, it wakes us up out of our spiritual slumber. There is no concealing our ungodliness on Ash Wednesday, no time for prideful pretending. No, our souls are laid bare, our self-constructed façades of righteousness shattered. On this day, in a way unlike any other, the church boldly beckons us to repent and believe the Gospel. As strange as it may sound, I love that about Ash Wednesday.

Second, Ash Wednesday marks the beginning of Lent, the season of focusing with particular clarity on the significance of the suffering and cross of Christ for our salvation. Because it reminds us of the forty days that Jesus fasted and prayed for us, Ash Wednesday is a fitting time for us to fast and pray in the way of Jesus. In an age when we usually try to avoid suffering at all costs, Ash Wednesday helps us see the redemptive value of the suffering of Jesus for us, and that profound truth casts our own inevitable suffering in a new light. I love that about Ash Wednesday as well.

Third, Ash Wednesday prepares us to celebrate more fully the joy of Easter. That, of course, is ultimately the point—for us to be drawn into the saving mystery of Christ’s life, death, and resurrection as we observe the season of self-examination and repentance that begins on this holy day. On Ash Wednesday, we recall through word and ritual, and even rejoice in, the fact that the Lord our God can bring new life out of the ashes of our brokenness. Death gives way to life, and the ashes on our foreheads bear the sign of the cross, which is the supreme symbol of God’s victory for us in the crucified and risen Christ. This, most of all, is what I love about Ash Wednesday.

These reasons and others find poetic expression in a great hymn of our faith by Claudia F. Hernaman:

Lord, who throughout these forty days
for us didst fast and pray,
teach us with thee to mourn our sins
and close by thee to stay.

As thou with Satan didst contend,
and didst the victory win,
O give us strength in thee to fight,
in thee to conquer sin.

As thou didst hunger bear, and thirst,
so teach us, gracious Lord,
to die to self, and chiefly live
by thy most holy word.

And through these days of penitence,
and through thy passiontide,
yea, evermore in life and death,
Jesus, with us abide.

Abide with us, that so, this life
of suffering over past,
an Easter of unending joy
we may attain at last.

Acts 17:16-34 contains Paul’s message to the Athenians at the Areopagus. Athens was considered the intellectual capital of the world. It was home to Socrates, Plato and Aristotle. Paul came to Athens during his second mission trip, seeking refuge. Earlier, he had been run out of Thessalonica by the synagogue crowd. He found a more congenial reception in Beroea, until the ruffians from Thessalonica arrived and ran him out of town again.

Interestingly, the Gospel tends to generate two responses in its hearers: repentance, leading to conversion; and resistance, leading to hostility. Things became so heated on this mission that Paul’s colleagues felt it best to get him out of Beroea until things simmered down. And so they sent him to Athens for a brief respite, before moving on to Corinth. But Paul was never one to take a holiday from the main business of his life, so he found ample opportunity to share his witness.

—

Someone stopped by the office recently to say hello. He shook my hand and said something rather odd: “You staying out of trouble?” I wasn’t sure if it was a greeting, or a question. I wanted to say something cute. But I decided to treat it as a legitimate question. I said: “I try to stay out of trouble, but trouble seems to find me! In fact, I’ve about decided that the nature of ministry is trouble.” There was an awkward silence. He gave me one of those funny looks, as if to say, “I’m sorry I brought it up.” I’ve thought about it since. And I’ve come to a conclusion: if you’re looking to stay out of trouble, don’t follow Jesus!

The more I study Acts, the better I understand, that trouble follows Jesus. And trouble follows those who follow Jesus. If you’re earnestly seeking to be a witness, trouble will come to you!

Early on in ministry, I think I envisioned discipleship as a perpetual safety net, a safe haven, a warm blanket. But it isn’t true. Discipleship always leads to a cross. Disciples don’t avoid trouble. They inhabit trouble!

While Paul was seeking refuge in Athens, he runs into trouble.

The text begins with the angst of the apostle: “While Paul was waiting for them in Athens. He was deeply distressed.” The word for distressed is paroxyno. It’s a medical term for a seizure, an epileptic fit. We use it today when someone gets upset. “She had a fit.” “He spazzed out!” Another translation says Paul was “irked.” For good reason!

The city was full of idols. Nothing irks a Jewish Christian more than idolatry. It’s a violation of the Shema, the Jewish confession of faith, which begins, “The Lord our God is one.” Our theology is rooted in monotheism. One God. Athens was a violation of the first two commandments: No other gods before me, and no graven images. A monotheist in a polytheistic town? Of course, he was irked.

Nothing evokes the ire of God more than idolatry. Isaiah 42:8 says, “I am the Lord, that is my name; my glory I give to no other, nor my praise to idols.”

One of the ancient historians said of Athens: “Its easier to find a god there, than a man.” Everywhere Paul looked, there were shrines and temples. There was one to Athenia, Zeus, Ares, Mars, Jupiter, Venus, Mercury, Bacchus, Neptune, Diana. Athens was a veritable forest of idols.

Normally, when Paul visited a new town, he went first to the synagogue. He had connections there. He found hospitality there. A place to stay. Food to eat. A bed to rest. Community. And there he would teach on the Sabbath and explain the Scriptures. But on this trip, he also did some street preaching. He didn’t just stay in the synagogue, he went into the marketplace. And this is where the trouble begins. As long as you keep your faith private, in the church, its okay. But when you go public, there’s trouble!

But despite the fact that Paul was irked by the culture, he didn’t detach himself from the people. He engaged the community. It’s impossible to be a witness if you don’t engage the culture. It’s impossible to influence the world, if you never leave the church. For the bread to rise, the yeast has to penetrate the loaf.

During Jesus’ ministry, he didn’t settle in the synagogue. He went out to where people lived and worked and played. In fact, Jesus didn’t call a single disciple at the synagogue. He called disciples at the dock, at the tax office, on the hillside. Luke 5 says, Jesus invited Peter to follow him while Jesus was sitting in Peter’s boat.

You can’t catch fish unless you go where the fish are! Jesus calls us to be fishers of people, not keepers of the aquarium. And Paul knew it. He goes where the fish are. He goes to the marketplace. He goes to the Agora. The gathering place. The hub. The place where people assembled to get the news, to share information, to exchange ideas.

The agora was the central spot in Greek city-states. In Athens, a university town, academicians and philosophers gathered there, and debated, argued and discussed the latest ideology. So Paul went there.

Paul himself was no slouch intellectually speaking. He was a graduate of UT (University of Tarsus), educated in Jerusalem by the finest Jewish scholar of the 1^st century, Gamaliel (5:34), a PhD in the Jewish law. Gamaliel was the grandson of Hillel the Elder, one of the great minds of his day. Paul could stand toe to toe with these sophisticated elites. It’s interesting also, that at first he didn’t just lecture and preach to get the word out. He used an Athenian technique. The Socratic method. Q&A. Dialogue. So he’s not just using Jewish methodology, he’s playing by their rules.

The initial response was fairly brutal. They called him a babbler, a cock sparrow, a bird-brain. Spermologos. A retailer of second-hand scraps of philosophy. A picker-up of learning’s crumbs. Others referred to him as a propagandist for foreign deities. Suffice it to say, many of these cultural elites were not buying what Paul was selling. Paul would later say in 1 Corinthinians 1:23, that the Gospel message is a stumbling block to Jews, and foolishness to Greeks.

Some however, were impressed enough to invite a second hearing. Verse 19 says: they brought him to the Areopagus, the hill of Ares, the Greek God of War, the son of Zeus. The Roman name for Ares is Mars. They took him to Mars Hill, the place where the Supreme Court of ancient Greece gathered. And here at the place built in honor of the son of Zeus, Paul proclaims the son of the one true God.

In many ways, this is Paul’s finest preaching. He’s having to adapt. He’s communicating to people who do not share his Bible. These Athenians don’t know the Scriptures. The Bible is not their story. It has no authority for them. Of course, as people belonging to the way, the Bible is our starting place. But how do you teach/preach to people who have no concept of Scripture? Who don’t recognize the Bible as inspired, God-breathed, sacred?

Paul has to find a bridge, a cultural connection whereby he can begin to teach biblical truth. So watch what he does. Though he’s irked by their idolatry, he actually uses their idolatry as a point of contact.

“Athenians, I see how extremely religious you are in every way.” It’s an under-handed compliment. In other words, I appreciate your piety. I thought I was pretty spiritual, ’til I met you. But you guys take the cake! You’re up to your ears in religiosity! You see what he’s doing? Rather than using their idols to beat ‘em up, he uses their idols to relate. “You guys are so spiritual!” I see it in your statues and shrines. And I applaud that!

“But as I looked carefully at your objects of worship, I found among them an altar with the inscription, ‘to an unknown god.’ What you therefore worship as unknown, this I proclaim to you.” And starting with creation, he tells the Gospel story. He shares his witness.

It’s interesting that when we don’t really know God, anything and everything can assume the place of God.

When I’m not living in devotion to God, anything can become God. A form of government. A political party. The church. Drugs. Alcohol. A relationship. Self. A job. Money. Sex. Power. Food. Porn. Knowledge. You may never ever actually build a shrine or burn an offering, but our attachments and obsessions reveal our idols.

We’re all made with a god-shaped hole in our hearts, and we often try to fill it with god-substitutes, which cannot satisfy. Indeed, they only serve to make us dissatisfied. But everybody’s looking, everybody’s searching, groping. We all have an instinct for God. “We are His offspring,” says Paul. Notice, that’s a direct quote from one of their poets, Aratus. Then he quotes another, “In Him we live and move, and have our being.” Talk about connecting. Paul knows the music of Athens, the poets, the culture. Paul has been studying the culture, not because its cool, but so he can relate, connect, and bridge the gap between the unknown and the known.

The better you know the culture, the better you can empathize with the people, the better you’re able to be a conduit to God. As a missionary, you must not only be a student of theology, you must be a student of the culture!

This is incarnational ministry. Think about it. When God chose to make himself known to the world, He didn’t come as some weird alien that nobody understood. The shepherds didn’t come to Bethlehem, and say, “What is it?!” They said, “Its a baby.” And the unknowable became knowable! Not in a generic child, but in a Jewish kid. God is a Jewish boy? Yea. From Nazareth? A carpenter? A teacher? Who is betrayed? Who’s nailed to a tree? Like a lamb that is slain? And He rises from the dead on the third day? And is coming again to judge the earth? He’s not just a divine mystery. You can know Him! In fact, He wants very much to know you, right now, in this moment. Indeed, He is not far from you! Proverbs 18:24, “There is a friend who sticks closer than a brother.”

This is what Incarnation means. Its not just our theology. It’s our ecclesiology. It’s the way we do church. We seek to make known the unknown, by building bridges. Chuck Swindoll has said, “People who inspire others are those who see invisible bridges at the end of dead-end streets.” That’s what it means to be a witness, to build invisible bridges, so that the unknown God becomes known!

Sometimes you see it. We saw it in the life of Barbara Redmond. She died unexpectly last year. We had her homegoing service a few days later. Her father was one of the original sculptors of Stone Mountain. He died when she was a teenager. Her mother had to go to work, and she helped raise her siblings. She cooked, cleaned, washed, nurtured and loved. For many years she worked at Dekalb Community College. She had a love for the students there, particularly the foreign students who were far from home. She adopted many of them. She fed them and cared for them. In one situation, she moved an entire family into her own home. The family was Buddhist. Another was Muslim. They didn’t even share her faith, but because of her faith she loved them, and cared for them.

Often, I’m told she would take a plate of barbeque and peach muffins to the men who serviced her car. She loved her doctor, her chiropractor, and both of them wept when they got the news. She was a bridge.

Her daughter told me that she even learned how to text on her cell phone. Nearly 80! But she learned. You know why? Because she loved her grandchildren. She wanted to be a part of their lives. And that’s the way they communicate. So she learned their way. She connected, on their turf, to their world, and showed love on their terms. Because they were “worth the trouble,” she said. That’s what God has done for us in Christ!

She spoke a language that is cross-cultural and cross-generational. She spoke Gospel. She was fluent! She was a witness!

Staying out of trouble? Not a chance! Not in this lifetime. I’m a witness!